The Likes and Dislikes of James Potter
by I.Caught.Fire.In.His.Eyes
Summary: I made this for a roleplay. It's a few likes and dislikes of James, and small headcanons to fit with them. AU. Slight off canon personalities. (Expected as only JKR can write them completely canon).


Likes;

**Flying**

"_It's not just flying. It's an escape._"

James mounted the broom, shooting off into the air. The sun had just set, and he should be inside finishing up his reports of the day's events in training. But, he needed a few minutes to himself. It had been a long week, hell, a long month. Every day seemed like it dragged on, each minute feeling like an hour, and every hour feeling like sixty. That's what happened when a war was going on around you, and you were dab in the middle of the fire. He closed his eyes, relishing the air as it coursed through his hair. It was these few moments that kept him from breaking down; these moments of freedom that he didn't feel like he was being stretched to no end, and relied on so heavily.

**Evans**

"_Why don't I give up? I ask myself that every damn day. I think I would if it were just some bird. But it's not. It's Evans._"

It's not something he can help. It's an addiction, and he's a junkie. What was he addicted to? Everything about her. The way her eyes flash when she scolds him; the knot he gets in his stomach when he sees her smile; the jealousy that flares when she talks to other guys; how her cheeks turn a light shade of pink when she's embarrassed or blushing; hell, even her cheeks when they turn red with anger; the way his senses heighten when she's around, which causes him to feel like he's on cloud nine. The first time he smelled his Amortentia, it smelled of Sugar Quills, fresh parchment, and a scent that reminded him of spring. He remembered turning towards her in Potions class and giving a smile, she didn't even bat an eye at him that day, but he'll always remember what she looked like: exhausted from making the potion and helping others in the process, her hair tied up with a few escaped strands cascading down her neck, her emerald eyes flashing with amusement at something Mary MacDonald, her potions partner, had said. That was the moment he knew he was in for trouble, but he couldn't find himself to care. That was the day James' addiction started, and he has no plans of ever checking into rehab.

**Marauders**

"_Moony, Padfoot, and Wormtail? They're just not your average blokes; not just my friends. They're my brothers. The only family I've left._"

James leaned against the windowsill, his forehead pressing against the cold window of his room. He stared down at the garden that was located in the back of Potter manor. He could very distinctly remember being chased by his father as a child, his mother watching them over her shoulder as she worked on pulling weeds. Now they were resting in their freshly dug grave under the notable Willow tree. He was the last remaining Potter. He felt empty, scared, lost. He knew it was foolish but he had always been one of those children who thought his parents would be around forever. He closed his eyes and did his best to recall their laughter, even when they scolded him was cherished in a moment like this. His eyes shot open when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He glanced over his shoulder as the door was opened to reveal his three friends, waiting for him so they could leave to get on the Hogwarts Express. He gave a small smile, turning his head back and placing a kiss to his three fingertips and letting them dragging down the window. He may be the last Potter, but he wasn't alone. He had three brothers, who might as well be blood-related. They'd help him through this, and help his parent's rest in peace knowing their son wasn't alone in the world.

**Records**

"_Muggle's great invention, is what it is. Some of the best memories I've got are of Sirius and I blasting the records we got during summer on our record player in the commons._"

James reached his hand over to drop the stylus down on the record player. The music focused after a few seconds, and out of the two stereo speakers blasted the first song on the vinyl record. He lifted his glass of Firewhiskey, taking a sip and letting out a sigh at the burning feeling that went down his throat. It was relaxing in a way, and mixed with the very loud rock music, James was in heaven if there was one. He sunk into his chair and let his eyes droop; blocking out the world, all his worries. This was why he loved music. It was touching in a way, he had remembered one song when he was younger had actually made him cry. It was a wonder how powerful lyrics could be.

**Quidditch**

"_It's not about the game itself. It's about the rush you feel. Soaring through the air at a hundred miles per hour, dodging potentially life-threatening bludgers, strategizing, and identifying your opponent's weaknesses and strengths. If that doesn't convince you, well, it's not a bad feeling to see the crushed faces of your opponent when you win, either._"

There weren't many things school-related that James looked forward to. Yule dance; summer; spring break; yule break; Halloween dance; Valentines' dance. All that good stuff: never exams, or certain classes. But nothing compared to a Quidditch game. Nothing even compared to try-outs he had to host. It was tiring work, being the captain of the Quidditch team, but it was a job he took seriously. He could always be found in the common-room or when he had some free time drawing out game formations, adjusting schedules, taking any type of note that could possibly relate to Quidditch inside his black journal. It was always exciting in a way: learning a new move or another play's weakness so he could help them become better. And the game, oh the game was exhilarating; never knowing the outcome, watching every movement around him on the pitch, listening for the whistle of the snitch moving, the air coursing through his hair. It wasn't like just flying, this was competition, and this was his rush.

**Auror Training**

"_I've never worked this hard for anything in my life. Well, maybe except Evans. I used to not know what I wanted to do with my life, but now I know. I want to protect people. I want to make a difference._"

Most say he should've gone professional in Quidditch. He had pondered the thought many times, but it never seemed like the right choice. He wasn't sure what he was destined to do, and as much as he loved Quidditch and as good as he was at the game, he knew it wasn't what he was meant to be doing. It wasn't until the day of graduation that he found out what he was supposed to be doing. He had been given a flyer for Auror training. At first, he was skeptical. But, he was open to new things and so he signed up for the program. It only took a week for James to find out that this was what he wanted to do. He wanted to protect people, he wanted to make the world a better place for the future generation even if that meant taking one Death Eater down at a time. He was determined to be successful at this, and one day be head of the Auror office.

Dislikes;

**Reading**

"_Your book? I haven't touched a book since NEWT studying, and that was over a year ago!_"

James hated reading. It was as simple as that. The two never mixed: his attention span, and hundreds of words on a page without pictures. Now, if the book had four fish, one being red, and one being blue, then they might compromise. But other than that, James had other ways of putting books to his use. He stacked his six school books on the table, three each side before flopping down on the sofa and relaxing into it. He kicked his legs up to be perched atop the books, allowing him to relax further into the sofa and into his lovely nap. At least he did one of the two requirements before a test. Study, and get a good night's rest.

**Slytherins**

"_The lot are all evil, I tell you. They'll all be headed to the other side at graduation, and the rare ones who won't, will be neutral because they're too scared to go against their so-called friends. Which is idiotic, because friendship doesn't exist in a house like that._"

It was a birthright for a Potter to be placed in Gryffindor. The moment their name is called for sorting, they might as well just skip sitting on the stool and head straight to the Gryffindor table. Every Potter to date that can be traced was sorted into Gryffindor. With this birthright, it isn't much of a surprise that a Potter child is raised to be against Slytherin. Gryffindor and Slytherin were rivals, and that meant Potter and Slytherin were rivals. James wasn't any different than his parents, or his grandparents, or so on. He hated Slytherin with a passion, and with his hate to Slytherin, came his hate to any students sorted into the house. He had no reason to get to know the individual, because of the traits they shared with Salazar Slytherin; they were all bad news in his head. Being Gryffindor, he did his best to accept everyone, and not judge others. But this was a hate he'd die with.

**Death Eaters**

"_Death Eater. I think that's a worst insult than what they call us: Mudwallower, Blood-traitor. At least we're not ruthless murderers. We're protecting people. What gives them the right to decide who should live and who should die? We've all got magic in us. We're all humans. We all feel sadness, remorse, happiness, love. If you cut us open, you'll find the same organs; our blood will run scarlet, not muddy." _

James had never actually registered how dangerous of a game he was playing. He knew Death Eaters were evil, and that they attempted to push their views on others, and if you didn't believe in their views then you were just as bad as a muggle to them. It was a wrong thing to do, and made them horrible people on top of the large majority of them being from Slytherin. However, it never registered that while his brother may be a werewolf, they were the true monsters until his first scene he investigated in Auror training. It made him physically sick, tired, and more determined than ever to end this war. He used to think that everyone was the same on the inside, that the word mudblood was such a stupid thing to say because blood when spilled wouldn't pour mud, it'd run scarlet like even the purest of purebloods. But he was almost positive if you cut a Death Eater no matter their blood-status, their blood would run black.

**War**

"_This damn war is the reason I don't want to have kids. What gives me the right to bring a child into this world so he or she'll grow up like I did? Reading in the Daily Prophet on a weekly basis: 'Ten die in a Death Eater attack'. It's disgusting._"

James stared blankly at the report on his desk. A muggle mother and father, with their seven year old daughter had been killed. Why? Because the girl was a muggleborn. She had shown signs of magic just a week prior to her death. In the report picture, the Dark Mark could still be seen, imprinted in the sky. It made his stomach knot up. He questioned every morning why there had to be a war, and it's reasons like this he did. Innocent people were dying, people who had no clue a war was even raging. It made him feel guilty, because he was an Auror (in training, but hey, who's keeping track?). He was supposed to prevent these types of things from happening, and sometimes he did but it seemed every bust they made, three more were being reported to them that they couldn't prevent. He let out a sigh and rested his head in his hands, his eyes closing as he lost himself in thought.

**Stress**

"_I'm just so tired… sometimes I envy muggles for being allowed to be so oblivious to what's going on around them._"

Sometimes even flying didn't help. Those nights were the worst. He would toss and turn in bed, not able to get comfortable. He would have nightmares after he only barely managed to get to sleep. It was hell. He hated stress. When stress got too much, it made him think irrationally, and look back on his decision and think he should've just turned pro in Quidditch and left England to travel the world with his team. He knew he wouldn't have been able to do that, leaving his friends, Lily, and the cause that needs all the help it can get. But every day got harder with every copy of the Daily Prophet that was released. With every grey hair that appeared on his head. He only had three, but he was only nineteen, he shouldn't have to worry about that until at least his fifties (the Potter men had very good hair genes). James ruffled his already-mess-of-hair, blowing out a sigh. He knew only two things could calm him down now, and that was getting a drink with his friends, or seeing Lily.

**Classical Musical**

"_Soothing? Annoying, is more like it. I'd much rather have AC/DC or The Beatles on full blast than bloody Beethoven to help me relax._"

James raised his eyebrow as he listened to the song coming out of the record player. Of course, he knew what classical music was. His mother enjoyed it, and it was typically what one would dance to. It was never his cup of tea, though. He much preferred the saying: the louder, the better. He was sure Sirius did, too, who looked just as bored as he did with the song. He'd change it, but Lily had put the record on, and everyone else seemed to be enjoying it except the two of them. He grinned and raised his hand, playing air-violin along with the music. He became dramatic with the act, which caused only Sirius in the room to snicker while others glared or simply ignored him. He winced as he was hit punishingly for doing the act, which caused him to pull out his wand and send a spell at the record player, shifting the song into a rock one, and increasing the volume. Who needed a sonata when one had a song about being on the highway to hell?


End file.
